


Daughters of a Warrior.

by a_skalds_tale



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Sex, The Last Kingdom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_skalds_tale/pseuds/a_skalds_tale
Summary: Sihtric and his wife, Bristol welcome daughters to Uhtred's band of warriors.
Relationships: Sihtric (The Last Kingdom)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Daughters of a Warrior.

Sihtric had returned from battle, from Bebbanburg in one piece. When she heard the men approaching Coccham his wife sighed--relieved. One of the few times that she felt relieved to hear Finan’s obnoxious and boisterous voice throughout the small city.

She respected Uhtred for his fearless ways, in many ways he was truly a son of Ragnar the Fearless. But his brash and reckless decisions often led to _adventures_ that put Sihtric in harm’s way. That often put her in harm’s way, being away from her husband, her protector so often. But being alone forces a woman to get crafty with things. So many things around their small cottage have been broken and fixed by her quick-witted mind and nimble hands. Sihtric returns from his battles, his missions, and observes the small fixes she has made to the house, and thanks the gods for his wife. For her ingenuity, her ability to simply _adapt._

Sihtric is Uhtred’s most loyal man. The man Uhtred can trust with secrets, with _very_ important missions, including and certainly not limited to, breeching fortress walls, spying on enemy camps and taking care of his children, _ ~~and~~_ ~~other people’s children~~. Sihtric knew how to be light on his feet, knew how to be quiet. Growing up a slave, he knew how to camouflage into the background of any occasion, not drawing attention to himself. Which is why how he met his wife was such an unprecedented occasion.

Sihtric is quiet. Gentle in nature and intelligent, not from a formal education, but from observing those who were, formally educated. He knew he could speak his mind to Uhtred, to his wife, without fear of being called insolent or dumb, the way his father had, with nothing to warrant it. Sihtric met his wife, Bristol, in the fortress Dunholm. His father had taken Bristol during a raid of a Saxon camp. She had lived in Dunholm for many years before seeing Sihtric. Sihtric caught her eye one day when his father had summoned Sihtric to his quarters. Bristol was helping Kjartan dress a few battle wounds. He had mainly kept Bristol for his _private_ use, mostly to look at, to touch when he had wanted a warm body to make him feel better after a defeat, or a victory. He summoned Sihtric, angry for no reason other than _just to be angry_. Sihtric never met his father’s eye. Bristol was cleaning a deep gash on Kjartan’s shoulder blade. He could not see her face, thankfully. She was blushing, eyeing Sihtric. Despite his quiet and fearful demeanor, she thought he was _irresistible_ to look at. His dark eyes, dark hair, lean frame with bulging muscles in his arms. He resembled Kjartan in his nose, his jaw, but he must resemble his mother in every other area, she thought.

Kjartan made Sihtric look him in the eye when he was scolding him for _something he didn’t do_ , and when Sihtric’s eyes looked up, _he saw her_. It was everything he could do to keep his jaw from dropping. He was utterly, struck by her, and for purely sinful reasons. The dress she wore plunged at the neckline, and had a high bust, pushing her breasts up in the most uncomfortable, yet enticing way. Kjartan selected it for her _specifically_. It had no sleeves, showcasing beautiful, tanned, lean arms. Kjartan had let her spend a day out by the water recently, and she had enjoyed every moment sunbathing.

Kjartan struck Sihtric across the face, causing him to tumble backwards. Bristol gasped. Before Sihtric had a moment to recover from the first hit, Kjartan hit him across the cheek bone, his knuckles breaking skin. Sihtric felt tears burning beneath his eyes. Being hit by your father was one thing, but being hit by your father in front of a _beautiful woman_ was entirely another thing.

After Kjartan was finished wailing on Sihtric he let him go. Sihtric scurried away, his face bloodied, shoulders bruised and hands scraped from trying to catch himself. He slinked away, _praying, hoping, pleading with the gods_ that he wouldn’t have to face that woman again without a sword in his hand to slash his father across the face.

But the spinners of fate know best. That night, Sihtric was out in the courtyard, fetching some water, and Bristol couldn’t sleep. He saw her and turned to run away, but she called out to him. He knew that he could never resist her voice, not when she called to him _so_ sweetly.

“Sihtric,” she called gently, as not to wake anyone. “Sihtric, please don’t run away.”

He stopped in his tracks, the moonlight highlighting the bruise forming on his left cheekbone. “What do you want, girl?” he asked, trying to be harsh, trying to scare her off.

“I’d like to help you.” she said gently, walking closer, closer still.

His heart beat faster in his chest, a lump in his throat. He nodded.

She patched him up that night. They had spent the night under the stars, sharing stories, laughter and tears. They continued to meet each other in secret, under the moonlight, falling more in love each evening. He drunkenly met her one night, and promised, swore on Thor’s hammer, that one day he would take her and they would escape from Dunholm. That he would marry her, take her, love her, cherish her, _ravish_ her. A few weeks later, Ragnar, son of Ragnar the Fearless came to take Dunholm and kill Kjartan. Uhtred took Sihtric, tearing him away from Bristol. He swore to her that he would return for her. And once he was sworn to Uhtred, he returned for Bristol. And the rest is history.

His strengths, the things his wife, and many others, found to love the most about him, came from his upbringing. His observant ways, his quiet yet steady and strong presence. His resourceful ways of fixing almost anything, and being given close to nothing to accomplish such a feat. He is good with his hands, good at setting broken bones, an excellent medic. He can stomach the worst of battle wounds. He has helped everyone’s animals birth their young, soothingly rubbing their necks, whispering things to them in Danish. He has promised his wife, that when she graces him with children, he will be alongside her for the birth of each of their children. And she knows he will be. He is decent in the kitchen, able to distinguish which apples will be the sweetest and crunchiest. He can bake a nice loaf of bread, though it is never as soft as when his wife makes it. He enjoys the company of his brothers, Uhtred, Finan and Osferth. However, when he gets moments to himself, he likes to take those opportunities. He enjoys being alone, enjoys silence. Enjoys being alone with his thoughts. It’s hard when he returns from battles. He has an internal desire to be alone, to empty his head of the horrors he saw on the battlefields, to soak in the sunlight, arse naked if he pleased. To float in the water on his back, soaking until he is pruned and tanned from the water and sun.

But he also wants to spend every waking second with his wife, his beloved, his soulmate, his great love. Wants to spend every second skin to skin with her, making love, telling her of his adventures, of the victories, the defeats.

He does not take kindly to being yelled at. Despite all these years outside of Dunholm, outside of his father’s reach, anytime a voice is raised at him, the small, abused-bastard-son of Kjartan is still able to be seen in the now warrior’s eyes. Uhtred thanked the gods, when he met Sihtric’s beloved, that she is a kind, gentle soul like his oath man. She has never raised her voice to him, never had a reason to. She’s had a few reasons to raise her voice to his lord, however.

Uhtred trusts Sihtric and Finan both with his life. His oath men, his brothers. His family. However, Sihtric was privy to certain aspects of the king’s business Finan wasn’t. Because Finan doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. 

When Sihtric returns from battles, from missions, from spying escapades, his wife thanks the gods, thanks Mary, thanks Allah, thanks anyone who will care to listen, for his safety. 

Once, he returned with a few bruises, scratches from a scuffle he had with a beggar who tried to pry a silver arm band from Sihtric’s arm. His wife had practically thrown herself out of the house to get to Uhtred, to scold him for sending _her_ man on a treacherous journey alone.

She meets him at the docks of Coccham, where Finan, _loudly,_ announces their arrival. They smell of blood, mud and sweat. Osferth smells as though he may have shat himself. And, the poor boy very well could have. Battle simply isn’t his thing.   
Uhtred is emotional, his son, young Uhtred is angry as always. Finan is glad to be back, attempting to lighten the mood with promises of ale and a bath. 

And Sihtric is quiet. He does not return with his usual jubilant smile, with a band of silver to slide across his wife’s pretty finger. Not this time.   
He returns with a dark look in his eye, his jaw clenched, entire body tense.   
Once he disembarks the boat and grabs his satchel, he takes his wife by the arm and hauls her towards their house. 

“Sihtric, ow! Sihtric what is wrong?” she asks, wincing at the grip he has on her forearm.

“I need you, woman.” he growls. Her heart flutters, a surge of slick rushing between her thighs as she takes his meaning.   
They approach the house quickly, their pace fast. He opens the door, slamming it just as quickly behind them, barring it and throwing his things down on the floor. 

“Can’t you clean up first?” she giggles, sliding her shoes off. 

“I’ve waited entirely too long for you. Pointless mission for a pointless cause. Please, you can clean me until your heart is content after I take you.” he says, voice softening, if only for a moment. He begins to slam the wooden shutters closed on the windows as she unlaces her dress, letting it fall to the floor. 

He marvels at the sight, thankful for such a beauty. Her heart quickens as he growls from across the room at her, as he backs her against the bed. He has rid himself of his armor, his weaponry, letting it fall to the floor with a clang. 

She laughs once more at his brutish demeanor, so far from the Sihtric she knows and loves. His body hides hers beneath him as he pushes her up the bed, his body following hers. He is hungry, hungry for her, for her body, for her soul, mind. Eager to taste her on his tongue, eager to feel her coming undone underneath him.

He shivers when she whispers in-between kisses, “Sihtric, take me. Please.” He felt his cock harden, impossibly harder, pressing against her thigh as he mindlessly rutted against her, hands still not finished busily exploring every curve, every plane of flesh she had to offer.

Eyes blown wide with lust, he picked up a leg, pulling it by the back of her knee, and hoisted it over his shoulder. A surge of slick pooled between her legs at what was coming for her next. When he returned from battle he was never in any mood for careful, gentle lovemaking. It was rough, brutal, primal. A hand gently clasped over her throat, her eyes closing at the sensation, mouth dropping open, a hand clutching his forearm. He would never apply so much pressure as to cause any damage. He would never purposefully hurt her. But they both liked this.

Sliding his cock between her folds, coating himself in her slick, he cursed under his breath. Her breathing hitched, a whine escaping her lips. “Don’t you dare make a sound, am I understood?” he asked, lips to her ear. “I don’t want to hear one sound out of you.”

“Yes, Sihtric,” she breathed. “Take me, mark me, own me, ravish me. I am yours.” she breathed.

He nodded, intoxicated, _drunk_ off her already. He slid his cock inside her, the initial stretch delicious. He groaned, relieved. There is little time to attend to lustful matters on the road. Particularly for Sihtric, who is always expected to be the lookout, the one staying up all the night, the one to sound the alarm to Uhtred and Finan if anyone approaches. He keeps himself awake with thoughts of moments like these, moments of humping his wife senseless.

He gives himself a moment to rein in all his emotions, his senses, to calm his cock down before he spills his seed in a matter of seconds, _so_ worked up by just the sight of this _goddess_ he shares his bed with, his heart with, his _life_ with. He allows her to adjust, his length stretching her, filling her completely.

He slowly begins his brutal and pleasurable pace, hips slamming against hers, lips and tongue all over her pretty mouth, swallowing down her kisses. “You feeling alright, love?” he asked, breathing heavy. She nodded frantically, eyes rolling back in her head. “You’re so beautiful, look how beautiful you are.” he praised, removing his hand from her throat to grab her breast. His head dropped to her chest as his fingers ghosted between her legs, rubbing gentle circles into the apex of her sex, sending her keening.

She moaned, _so_ loudly, legs shaking, muscles in her belly quaking, release threatening. “Sihtric!” she shouted.

His head snapped up from where it was resting on her chest. “Tell me, sweet girl,” he whispered, teeth biting at her ear. “You’re being so loud; I think the whole city can hear you.” he rasped, his own release nearing.

“Sihtric, please!” she cried, tears falling from her eyes. “Please, please!”

“You’re so loud, sweetheart, don’t you dare make another sound,” he threatened. An empty threat. He would never not let her find, chase, expound on her own pleasure. He _loved_ it. Loved feeling her gush over his cock, loved setting every nerve ending she has on fire. “That’s it, good, good.” he breathed, ragged, exhausting himself.

She shook, body on edge, waiting, _waiting_ for his permission to release. “Sihtric, Sihtric, please,” she whined, eyes pinched shut, gripping his forearms. “Please!”

“Alright, alright, let go for me.” Sihtric told her.

Her entire body shook, muscles clenching around him, eyes rolled back in her head. “Sihtric!” she shouted. He grunted, finding his pleasure, his cock throbbing, spilling his seed inside her.

Their pleasure faded and he collapsed on top of her, his forehead pressed against her shoulder.

She giggled softly. “Sihtric,” he rolled off her, eyes heavy with fatigue and lust. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, my love,” he said, rolling on his side, fingertips grazing her side gently. “Thought of you every day.”

“Every day?” she asked, pleasure drunk smile spread across her face.

“Every day,” he kissed her face, “Every night. Every morning I thought of you. Thought of the children we would have someday.” he smiled.

Her heartbeat quickened. “That will be sooner than you think, my love,” his eyebrows furrowed. “I am with child.”

“You are?”

“Yes,” She giggled at his delighted expression. “I went to a seer. She thinks it will be a girl. A daughter.”

Sihtric’s hands wandered to her belly, fingers gentle, grazing her skin. “That would bring me great joy.” he smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. 

Six months later, Sihtric sat next to Bristol, waves of pain cascading through her spine, her stomach muscles clenched, sweat beading on her forehead. He held her hand. “Breathe, my love, breathe,” he cooed gently, wiping the sweat from her brow with a cool, damp cloth. “You’re strong, you are stronger than I am, my love, breathe.” Her grip tightened on his hand as the muscles of her womb contracted together again.

“Sihtric!” she groaned, squeezing his hand, breathing heavily through the pain.

“You’re doing so well, my love.” He dabbed at her forehead again with the cloth.

“Sihtric, I think it’s nearly time.” She said, her instinct to push beginning to kick in.

“Alright, alright.”

He went to retrieve the rope. Finan, Uhtred and Osferth all sat outside of their home, on the chairs on the front stoop. “Sihtric, are you sure you don’t want us to get a—a woman?” Osferth asked shyly.

“No, I will be fine,” Sihtric said calmly and confidently, tying the rope into a loop on one end. “I have aided women in giving birth before.”

“You have?” Finan said, shocked.

“He has.” Osferth confirmed. Finan and Uhtred’s eyes widened as Sihtric returned to the house, to his wife.

“Sihtric!” Bristol groaned, face reddened. “Sihtric, please.”

“Here, here you are, my love.” He hung the rope above their bed, the loop hanging down in front of her. Her hands grasped it, lifting her hips off the bed, beginning to push.

She groaned and moaned, pushing as her muscles contracted. “Rest, rest,” he urged her after an hour of pushing. “Rest, here, you need water.” he eased her down onto the straw mattress. He guided a cup of fresh, cool water to her lips. Memories from Dunholm flooded his mind.

How he had helped Freja, a friend and fellow slave, in birthing her son, a stillborn. Freja was in terrible pain, Sihtric remembered. He remembered how she groaned and moaned, her entire body shaking, in such pain. Once the child was born, she bled for an hour. Sihtric never left her side, and once she was well enough to walk, they buried the baby in a field.

Bristol’s cries brought Sihtric back to the present. “Sihtric, I can feel the baby! Sihtric!” she cried, the faintest smile crossing her features. He knelt by her hips, hands ready to guide the child out of her. He could see the faintest amount of hair from the child’s head crowning.

“I see the child, I do!” he said excitedly. “Keep pushing, Bristol.” With every push the child emerged further. With a push and a gush of blood, the shoulders and head emerged.

A few moments later, the child emerged fully, a daughter. “It’s, Sihtric, it’s a girl.”

“It’s a girl, like the seer said,” Sihtric smiled, handing the baby to Bristol. “A girl.” He repeated, in disbelief.

She held the baby to her chest, fluids and blood smearing across her body. She shivered, the cold seeping in through the windows, chilling her as the sweat cooled on her body.

Sihtric took the baby, who was gently crying against her mother’s chest to clean her off. “Lisbet,” He said gently. “We should name her Lisbet.”


End file.
